


catharsis

by tusslee



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Hand Jobs, Light Angst, M/M, Porn with Feelings, feels kinda melancholy tbh, little bittersweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-28 01:56:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12595520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tusslee/pseuds/tusslee
Summary: With Lance, Keith doesn’t feel the need to run, or hide behind the walls he so carefully constructs to keep people out. He doesn’t mean to let Lance in, he sort of just waltzes in like he belongs. He makes himself a home in Keith’s lonely heart, fills up an emptiness he’s been trying to ignore for years, and kisses his sweaty palms just because he can.





	catharsis

**Author's Note:**

> when and where does this take place in the timeline????  
> your guess is as good as mine, my dude

It starts with little things that Keith only notices because, well, it’s Lance. It’s impossible _not_ to notice. 

The casual touches are easily ignored by everyone else. Hunk doesn’t bat an eye when Lance throws his arm around his shoulder and leans into his side and Pidge doesn’t jerk her knee away when Lance sits too close and their legs bump. Shiro goes so far as to touch Lance back, ruffles his hair when Lance clings to his arm and smiles fondly at him. Even Coran and Allura end up on the receiving end of Lance’s hugs once in a while and neither of them complain. 

Not that Keith is complaining, he just doesn’t know how to handle it. 

Their relationship has bettered and changed from something antagonistic to companionable and Keith would almost call Lance a friend were he not so annoying sometimes, but he thinks that’s part of what makes Lance likeable. Lance, apparently, feels the same way because he accepts Keith into his personal space bubble and Keith notices Every. Single. Time.

Lance doesn’t seem to do it purposefully. It’s like he doesn’t think before he throws his arm around people, or grabs them by the shoulders and shakes them excitedly. He’s almost always been a burst of manic energy and it’s refreshing most of the time, but Keith learns quickly that it’s a lot of nervous habits. He’d never pegged Lance as anxious before, but he’d always hidden it well. The more time Keith spends around him, the more obvious it becomes, so Keith stops pushing him away even when his brain screams for him to tuck tail and run.

Lance’s hands are always warm. When he grabs Keith’s wrist, or his shoulder, or his knee, or settles a hand between his shoulder blades, or against his lower back, the touch feels electric and hot. Too hot. His hands are never sweaty, like Keith’s, but they’re warm and they burn like a brand against his skin, leaving the sensation behind for the rest of the day. Keith thinks about Lance’s hands more than he probably should.

Keith stops flinching at some point, stops tensing under Lance’s hands when they reach for him and it feels a lot like vulnerability, but it’s not fear that slicks his palms with sweat. 

 

Keith lies awake in bed because sleep doesn’t come easy on the ship after a day of doing nothing productive. He still feels wide awake even though his eyes feel dry and tired, his body and mind are restless so he throws the thin sheet off himself and gets up. His sense of time is skewed at best since there’s no real morning or night in space, but they do their best to keep a regular schedule. It doesn’t always work. Keith has caught all of them up and about when they were supposed to be resting; training, or watching whatever odd film they could find (tinkering with gadgets when it comes to Hunk or Pidge) instead of lying restlessly in bed.

He pads barefoot along the dimly lit hallways toward the training deck in hopes he can burn off some energy to get some sleep, but someone must have had the same idea because when he gets close enough, he can hear the muffled sounds of Lance’s bayard firing off. 

Keith steps quietly into the room and watches Lance, feet bare like Keith’s and hair rumpled like he’d at least _tried_ to sleep. He’s still in his pajamas, but his gun is tucked soundly into his shoulder and he moves with a grace Keith only ever sees in battle. Both eyes stay open as he stares down his sights and pulls the trigger, dummies falling before they can even move more than two steps away from where they’ve fallen from the ceiling. 

Lance is a crack shot and the ease with which he breathes as he lines his sights with his target is mesmerizing. His hands don’t shake like Keith’s sure his own would and he doesn’t squeeze his eyes closed when he fires. He doesn’t flinch when the gun kicks, doesn’t blink when his target drops, doesn’t miss. 

Eventually, Lance realizes he’s not alone and he calls off the training dummies. He lets his arms drop, bayard dissolving from its rifle form. “Hey, buddy.” He greets and Keith notices the sweat making his hair cling to his forehead and his shirt to his chest, “Couldn’t sleep?”

“No.”

“Me either.” Lance sighs. He grabs a water bottle and chugs nearly half of it before leaning against the wall and sliding down to sit.

“You’ve gotten even better.” Keith says.

Lance’s eyebrows shoot up and his ears go a little red, like he’s embarrassed, but Keith thinks that’s silly. “High praise coming from you.” He says instead of something snarky like Keith had been expecting. 

Keith frowns at him, “It’s the truth.”

Lance makes a noncommittal sound and pats the floor next to him until Keith takes the hint and moves to sit beside him. 

Lance is unusually quiet and something about the silence makes Keith feel jittery. He doesn’t usually have to search for a topic of conversation, or participate much at all because Lance talks enough for three people, but his lips stay pressed tightly together and his eyes stay glued to the wall opposite them.

It shouldn’t really surprise him when Lance’s hand settles on his knee, but it does and he jumps under the touch. Lance doesn’t pull away though, only hesitates until Keith relaxes and his fingers squeeze reassuringly. 

“Thanks.” Lance murmurs softly after they sit for too long in silence. Keith nods, avoids looking at Lance’s hand or his eyes that are now picking him apart. Lance is smart when he wants to be and he can read people easier than Keith has ever been able to. Even though he feels like he’s pretty tough to crack, he’s sure Lance of all people can see right through him. 

Lance doesn’t say anything, though, and it seems he’s not going to because he sighs and squeezes Keith’s knee again before moving to draw his hand away. Keith doesn’t want him to go yet, doesn’t want to have to think about what the touches mean, what he _wants_ them to mean, so he grabs Lance’s hand and drags it back into his lap where he can use both hands to run his thumbs against his warm palm. Lance doesn’t pull away and he doesn’t say anything. Keith is grateful for that because he doesn’t know what he’d say otherwise. 

 

Keith jerks awake to the sound of a soft knock on his door before it slides open with a quiet hiss and the dim hallway lights flood his room. Lance steps in and the door shuts behind him, letting the dark consume them again. “Pidge kicked me out.” Lance whispers.

“Out of where?” Keith asks, sleep still clinging to his muddled thoughts as he sits up and tries to shake the drowsiness. 

“Bed. I couldn’t sleep and sometimes she lets me lay with her, but she kicked me out cause I kept tossing and turning. Did I wake you?” Lance sounds apologetic, but Keith doesn’t want him to leave so he shakes his head.

“It’s fine. Are you okay?”

Lance nods, or Keith thinks he does, but it’s a little too dark to tell. He doesn’t say anything else, just hovers like he’s waiting for permission so Keith pats the bed and Lance all but dives in beside him. 

For once, Lance’s hands are cold. His feet are too and they search out Keith’s warmth, toes pressing against his legs to thaw. He tucks his hands against Keith’s side and lies facing him, chin to his chest and overgrown hair hiding his eyes. 

Keith itches in a way he’s become more familiar with the more time he spends around Lance. He wants to touch him, to comfort him, to know he’s okay because lately he hasn’t seemed okay at all and Keith doesn’t know how to fix it. He reaches for him hesitantly, hand shaking as he settles it above Lance’s hip on his side. 

Lance takes the touch as permission to wiggle closer until he can worm a leg between Keith’s and tuck his head under Keith’s chin, palms flat against his chest and breath warm against his neck. Keith hopes he can’t hear how hard his heart is beating. 

 

At some point, he falls back asleep and for the first time in ages, he doesn’t dream.

 

When he wakes up, Lance is already awake and watching him, blue eyes still hazy with sleep. He doesn’t look away when Keith catches him staring, just smiles sleepily and squeezes the arm that’s wrapped around Keith’s waist, pulling him closer. “Thanks.” He murmurs into Keith’s hair. Keith nods because he doesn’t know what else to say.

 

After that night, Lance continues to creep into Keith’s room and Keith lets him slip into bed with him because Lance keeps the nightmares at bay and he’s warm. 

More often than not, they fall asleep in a tangle of arms and legs and wake up much the same way, but neither of them talk about it and the embarrassment fades after the third or fourth time. Lance seems comfortable so Keith pretends to be too until he actually is and he can’t remember what it’s like to wake up alone. 

The first kiss is pressed into his hair right before he falls asleep. He’s too out of it to really realize until he wakes up with Lance’s face still pressed into his hair, breathing deeply, strong arm a steady weight around his middle. He doesn’t know what it means, only that he can’t stop thinking about it. 

The second one is pressed to his forehead, light and quick. Lance’s eyes are closed already, his fingers sliding aimlessly along Keith’s side over his t-shirt. Keith stares at him until Lance feels someone watching him and his eyes flutter open, questioning. It takes a minute, but Lance eventually realizes and he smiles sheepishly, “Sorry.” He says softly. Keith shrugs like it’s not a big deal because truthfully it’s not and he doesn’t really want Lance to stop. 

The kisses become a regular thing, but only when they’re in bed together and it’s never on the lips. Lance kisses his forehead, his cheek, his fingertips, the back of his neck, his shoulder, but it’s never anything more than a gentle brush of dry lips. There and gone in seconds, a whisper of breath against Keith’s sensitive skin. He wants more, but doesn’t know how to ask for it. He wants to kiss him back, but touching Lance is still something foreign to him, so he just lets it happen and hopes it never stops. 

 

Keith has never been good with people. He doesn’t trust easily, if at all, and because of that he usually holds everyone at arm’s length. If he does something stupid, like let someone in for example, chances are they won’t stay. He knows how fast people come and go and how dangerous the lives they lead are nowadays. Everything is so temporary, but with Lance, hours last a lifetime. 

With Lance, Keith doesn’t feel the need to run, or hide behind the walls he so carefully constructs to keep people out. He doesn’t mean to let Lance in, he sort of just waltzes in like he belongs. He makes himself a home in Keith’s lonely heart, fills up an emptiness he’s been trying to ignore for years, and kisses his sweaty palms just because he can.

Keith can’t think of another reason why he would until one night when Lance is curled around him, chest pressed to his back and hand on his waist playing with the hem of his shirt. His warm fingers graze bare skin and goosebumps break out all over as Keith shivers. Lance kisses the back of his neck, lingers as his fingers slide beneath his shirt and up his side. They slip over his chest and down his abs, the touch feather-light and curious. 

“Okay?” Lance breathes. Keith nods. He wants to turn, to press into the touch, to touch back, to kiss Lance on the mouth because it’s all he thinks about now, but he stays still and tries to even out his breathing while Lance drags his fingers along his waist and up over his hip. “I wanna touch you.” Lance’s breath is warm against his ear and Keith wants to tell him, “you’ve been touching me, you’re always touching me” but the words don’t come. Keith thinks it’s a different kind of touch he’s talking about anyway, but he wants that too. He wants anything Lance will give him so he grabs Lance’s wrist and presses his palm flat to his stomach, takes a breath, and guides it down. 

Lance’s breath hitches behind him, “Sure?” He asks. Keith squeezes his wrist and keeps sliding his hand down until his fingers brush over the waistband of his sweats and he nods. He lets go, feels Lance hesitate for a moment before his fingers ghost over his half-hard cock. Keith shudders. Lance presses up closer behind him, drags his hand over the tent in Keith’s pants, kisses the spot just under his ear.

It’s both too much and not enough. Keith sucks in a quick breath and holds it so he doesn’t make an embarrassing noise, cants his hips forward into Lance’s hand. Keith can feel Lance’s own erection pressing against his ass, but Lance’s focus is on him. “Wanna hear you.” Lance murmurs, encourages him with a kiss to his neck. 

Keith’s face burns with embarrassment, but he lets out a shaky breath and whines when Lance slips his hand beneath his sweats. It’s torturously slow, but the gentle touches work him up even more, make him oversensitive to every touch, every kiss. 

Lance cups him over his briefs and rubs himself against Keith’s ass, breathing heavily against his shoulder. Keith doesn’t know whether to press backward or forward, but Lance seems to get it because he shoves Keith’s sweats and briefs down, freeing his cock, and begins stroking him as he ruts against him. 

It feels too good for Keith to be too embarrassed. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he fists one in the sheets while the other reaches behind him to grip Lance’s hip. 

Lance is breathing hot and heavy against his back where he’s pressed his forehead to his shoulder, his hand works quick, thumb circling the head of his cock on every upstroke and wrist twisting just right on every down stroke. 

Keith rocks into his fist, grinds back against Lance, caught between sensation and overwhelming feelings that have no place to go but out. He can’t remember the last time he cried, yet his eyes are wet with tears. 

Lance says his name like a prayer, “Keith, Keith, _Keith_ …” he pants, whines, pleads. Keith feels him tremble, knows he’s close and he’s not far behind. “Come. C’mon, Keith, wanna hear you come.”

Keith spills into his hand silently, lip between his teeth and body tense until he shudders and melts. Lance stiffens behind him, rocks against him and moans quietly until he too goes still. He wipes his hand on Keith’s sheets and Keith can’t find it in himself to complain right now. 

Lance fixes his pants and sighs, “Hey, turn around.” Keith rolls over to find Lance smiling warmly at him, he wipes away the dampness that clings to Keith’s eyelashes and doesn’t ask why he’s crying, which Keith appreciates. “Can I kiss you?” He asks instead.

Keith nearly snorts, thinks they’re doing this kind of backwards, but nods. Lance cups the back of his neck, tilts Keith’s face up and presses his lips gingerly to his. It’s warm and easy. Their noses bump, but Keith doesn’t mind. He kisses back, lets Lance lead and tries his best to keep up. 

When they part, Keith doesn’t ask what the hell they’re doing. He doesn’t need labels, doesn’t need Lance to tell him he loves him because he doesn’t know a damn thing about love and doesn’t think he can really love anyone anyway. He feels lighter than he has in years, like Lance picked the weight of the world up off his shoulders for a moment. He knows it’ll be back, but for right now he wants to savor the way his body tingles with every brush of Lance’s fingers, every kiss Lance peppers against his face, this unspoken thing between them. 

“Don’t leave me.” Lance whispers between wet kisses. Keith won’t make promises he can’t keep, but he nods because for right now, he’s not going anywhere.


End file.
